


Floo Me, Maybe

by badwolfbadwolf, DizzilySpiraling, eeyore9990



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/F, Hogsmeade, Past Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Pub Owner Lydia, Quidditch Star Allison
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-30
Updated: 2014-10-30
Packaged: 2018-02-23 04:47:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2534708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfbadwolf/pseuds/badwolfbadwolf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzilySpiraling/pseuds/DizzilySpiraling, https://archiveofourown.org/users/eeyore9990/pseuds/eeyore9990
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison Argent, star Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies, knows what's riding on this interview for <i>Quidditch Monthly</i>.  It means moving the team beyond their latest scandal. It means soothing fans and bringing in more endorsements for better brooms and updates to their facilities.  But it also means putting up with Rita Skeeter and her completely disgusting questions.  Allison may be an accomplished witch with the tightest turn radius and fastest stopping time since Gordon Willikers, but that doesn't mean she's immune to the vile, sensationalist reporter.</p>
<p>When one question too many sends Allison fleeing through the streets of Hogsmeade, salvation comes from a most unexpected source.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Floo Me, Maybe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [BootsnBlossoms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BootsnBlossoms/gifts).



> Written for Boots' birthday! Happy birthday, bb! 
> 
> Originally posted in round-robin format on tumblr last week. Cleaned up and reposted here for reasons. :P

Allison dug her nails into her thighs under cover of the table's lurid pink cloth. She could feel the fake, public smile on her face drawing down into a grimace with every question out of Skeeter's mouth. She was about to blow her lid, and the last thing the Holyhead Harpies needed was another scandal. 

The final straw came when Skeeter looked up at her, lips drawn into a cruel smile, and tittered, "It's no secret that you split with long-time beau Scott McCall of the Tutshill Tornadoes last month. Tell me, Allison, girl to girl." Skeeter winked her ridiculously mascaraed eye at Allison and simpered in a way that sent chills of disgust up and down her spine. "Do you keep your broom in anti-theft mode all the time, just to feel that vibration between your thighs when the other players get too close?"

The overly sweet tea in the garishly pink pot exploded out of it, dousing Allison and Skeeter. 

"Oh," Allison said, voice flat, "looks like one of the students from up at the school hasn't quite mastered a levitation spell. If you'll excuse me a moment, I need to visit the powder my nose." Without waiting for a response, Allison gently shoved her chair back and stood, hurrying out of Puddifoot's main dining room toward the loo before quickly ducking past a group of chattering girls in school robes and stepping outside. 

Allison took two steps and fell backward against the brick wall of the tea shoppe, scrubbing at her face with both hands before she sensed eyes on her and looked up, expecting to see a gaggle of Quidditch enthusiasts. Instead, it was that skeezy photographer who followed Skeeter like an oilier shadow. He grinned at her, showing all ten, blackened teeth, and lifted his camera.

Not thinking, Allison whirled and ran, barely avoiding knocking down random shoppers and students out for their Hogsmeade weekend. She didn't have a destination in mind, not really, and she knew she was going to have to go back to finish out the interview eventually, but for now all she could think about was getting _away_. She didn't want to answer anymore sneering questions about her Muggleborn father, didn't want to listen to Skeeter's barely-veiled criticisms of witches in sport, and definitely, _definitely_ had no desire to discuss the state of her broom between her thighs. 

When she noticed the sign for The Three Broomsticks looming, a near-sob of relief burst from her and she banged into the shop like an Erumpent on Pepper Up Potion. "Madam Rosmerta!" she gasped, tripping over the threshold. Only...

Only the woman who was standing there, blinking at her in bemusement, wasn't Rosmerta. It was a young witch, about her age, with light ginger curls falling halfway to her waist. The witch smiled, tilted her head, and asked, "Would you like a table or just a refreshment?"

Allison, stunned by the _beauty_ of not-Rosmerta, blurted, "An empty closet with a lock, a tipped-over barrel, or an Invisibility Cloak would be best, honestly." Then she shook her head and groaned. "No, sorry, I'm being difficult. I'll just..." She saw the photographer through the sparkling clean windows lining the front of the pub and shrank in on herself, automatically inching toward the shadows.

But the witch was one step ahead of her. "Oooooh, that Bozo! Is he looking for you?"

"Ugh, yes." Allison sighed and pressed two fingers to her forehead. "I suppose I should go back. It's just—"

"Absolutely not. Where that horrible little man is, Skeeter is sure to follow. And you _don't_ want anything to do with _her_."

Allison smiled weakly. "Um. I sort of don't have a choice. I'm supposed to be at Puddifoot's right now finishing an interview with Skeeter."

"What? Why?" Shaking her head, the witch said, "I'm Lydia Martin, and you're not going anywhere near that evil woman."

"I have to. _Quidditch Monthly_ is picking up the interview, and after the fiasco with Jennie Ramsay last spring, the Harpies need all the positive press they can get." Allison's shoulders dropped as she took a step toward the door before it slammed shut and locked on her. Whirling, she saw Lydia with her wand out, a determined, furious expression on her face.

"If you want positive press, the very _last_ place you should seek it out is Rita Skeeter." Lydia looked like she wanted to spit after the name passed her lips, but was too ladylike to do so. "Besides which, if that woman hasn't already asked you highly improper questions yet, I'll eat my hat." Gesturing to her uncovered head, Lydia blinked innocently and said, "Would you look at that, I haven't a hat to eat. I suppose that means she already did." Leaning closer, Lydia stared at Allison and let out a breathy laugh. "Oh. Oh I see. She really _did._ "

Trying to school her features into something a little less revealing, Allison shrugged. "It's not like I don't get horribly sexist questions from the wizards who interview us."

"No, but hers are so much more… disgusting. It's the way she asks them. All," and here Lydia's face changed, her lips twisting, her eyes narrowing, until she was leering at Allison in almost the exact way Skeeter had. " _And Miss Argent, tell me, how does your big, thick broomstick feel between your thighs?_ "

Allison's eyes flew wide with shock. "How did you know…"

"She didn't!"

"Well, it was more ' _do you keep your anti-theft charm turned on all the time so your broomstick vibrates_ ' but…"

"Ugh!" Lydia shouted, throwing her hands in the air. 

Silence descended while they both contemplated the horror that was Skeeter. Finally, Allison thought of something. "I didn't introduce myself. I'm—"

"Allison Argent, Chaser for the Holyhead Harpies. I know." Lydia gestured to the far wall. Squinting against the dim lighting, Allison noticed there was an entire display of Holyhead's posters and flags dating back several years.

"Oh."

Lydia narrowed her eyes. "Surely you're not going to insult me by being surprised that I enjoy sport?"

"That'd be a bit like the pot insulting the kettle, wouldn't it?" Allison asked, grinning brightly.

"Madam Martin?" someone called, and Allison turned to see a tiny student in school robes clutching a bag from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes tight in his trembling hands. "Erm, sorry to interrupt," he said, his mouth falling open as he looked from Allison to her poster and back again. "You're—"

"Yes, yes, Westley, run along now." Lydia disabled the locking charm on the door with a quick flourish of her wand, and a group of students fell through the doors from outside. Apparently they'd been leaning against it, trying to open it. "Really," Lydia muttered, shaking her head. "A simple Alohamora would have worked."

The open doors reminded Allison of exactly why she was here in Hogsmeade. With a tortured sigh, she said, "Thank you, Madam Martin."

"Lydia, please."

"Lydia. It was lovely having a moment to escape the madness, but I really do have to finish that interview."

Lydia captured her full lower lip between her teeth, sending Allison's thoughts scattering for a moment. "What if…?" 

Blinking to reorient herself, Allison asked, "What if what?"

"I know Ginny Weasley through a friend of a friend. What if I could get you an interview with her instead?"

Allison's face fell, acid filling her stomach. "After what the owners did with her contract, she's refused any interviews with the team." And it wasn't as if Allison knew her personally. In fact, she was the one they'd picked up to fill Weasley's empty spot on the roster. 

"But if I could get her to interview you?" Lydia asked, sounding slightly frustrated and more than a little demanding.

"I'd do it in a hot second. An interview with _The Daily Prophet's_ senior Quidditch correspondent would prompt _Quidditch Monthly_ to send one of their own reporters out instead of outsourcing to Skeeter."

“You can sit here and drink this pint, maybe scare off the occasional brave underage student. I’m going to send an owl.” Lydia seemed to have made up her mind about things, and disappeared into the back promptly after setting a neatly pulled pint in front of Allison. 

Allison obediently sipped at her beer, anxiously glancing toward the street every few seconds. She kept expecting that awful reporter to suddenly appear over her shoulder with her photographer and end up publishing something like ‘Rookie Harpies Chaser a Closet Alcoholic? Read More Inside This Exclusive Rita Skeeter Report’. 

“Do you prefer a darker drought?” Lydia indicated the barely touched beer in front of Allison, apparently more concerned about the taste of her house ale than Allison’s current dilemma and possibly the future of her career. 

“What? No, it’s fine. It’s…” It seems a little early in the day to drink. But then, wizards didn’t seem to have as much stigma about this sort of thing than her father did at home. “I’m not in the habit of drinking.” A strict diet and training routine made even the occasional treacle tart a rare treat. 

“That’s a shame.” Lydia offered a small smile, leaning over the counter on her elbows. “I guess we won’t be seeing you very much in this establishment.” 

“You could come see me.” Allison blurted out, before dropping her head and flushing at her boldness. Lydia was just being nice, as a fellow female who despised Rita Skeeter’s sensationalist and frankly offensive treatment of everyone who came into contact with her. 

“Play, I mean. You could come see me play.” She clarified. “I have season seats and they’re empty half the time because my dad’s always off on business and it looks a little pathetic that I can’t even rummage up two friends to come watch me play. So really you’d be doing me a favour.”  
“A favour.” Lydia raised an amused eyebrow. “To sit in the Player’s Box of my favourite team.”

“I also wanted to thank you, for helping me recover from that awful-”

“Scheming bitch.”

“-woman. And for trying to help me out of this mess. Or if you don’t have time that’s perfectly alright too.” Allison finished lamely. 

“I’d love to come,” Lydia said, her pink full lips looking lovely as she smiled. Allison smiled back shyly, momentarily forgetting the nonsense with the photographer until a bit of motion outside the window caught her eye. “Nevermind that,” Lydia said sweetly, brandishing her wand and making the shutters roll down with a noisy thwack. “There’s a back way no one knows about, straight through the storeroom. Come on, follow me.” 

 

Allison stood, feeling a little guilty for leaving an almost full glass on the table, but Lydia was already sweeping past the bar and to the far corner of the room, pulling on a circular handle of a small door that Allison hadn’t noticed before.

 

“Pardon the dust,” Lydia said as she held the door open for Allison and then squeezed between two large crates. Allison blinked and followed her, and when the door slammed shut they were suddenly in complete darkness.

 

“Lumos,” they said in unison, both of them having to shield their eyes when the light was overwhelmingly bright. Allison tapped her wand a few times to dim the light, her eyes adjusting slowly to see the shelf of odds and ends in dirty jars to their left, and a teetering tower of napkins hanging right above Lydia’s head.

 

“I inherited a lot of junk,” Lydia said with a small laugh as they picked their way past a few more crates. “Some of these boxes have been moving and moaning, and I don’t even want to open them, frankly.”

 

There was a slightly muffled ‘oof’ and then Lydia shot her hand back, preventing Allison from walking into a waterfall of cocktail peanuts. They waited until the shower petered down to a stop, Allison realizing Lydia still had her hand held tight on her wrist. They smiled awkwardly at each other, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, more the type to give Allison a slight flutter in her stomach and make her swallow with excitement.

 

“Well here we are,” Lydia said as she pointed her wand towards a wooden door just a few feet away and withdrew her hand. She had a long cobweb hanging from her shoulder and dust smeared over her forehead, and somehow still managed to look confident and beautiful.

“I owe you one definitely,” Allison said, reaching up to flick away the cobweb off of Lydia’s shoulder before she thought better of it. She knew that she really ought to high-tail it out of there before Skeeter got wise to her whereabouts, but she was a bit reluctant to go. “Our next game is Thursday. Do you think you could make it?”

"Thursdays are slow anyway, so it shouldn't be a problem. But perhaps we could exchange floo addresses, just in case." Lydia blinked, and her expression was so perfectly innocent that Allison felt like a lecherous sleeze for the multitude of ways she was already picturing firecalling Lydia later. Most of them involved nudity.

Flushing, she looked down, sliding her tongue over her lower lip and tried not to sound too eager when she said, "Yes, I think that's a wonderful idea. We should definitely… do that."

Lydia reached a hand into the pretty apron tied around her waist and withdrew a pad of paper. With a muttered, "Nox," the light in the storage room dimmed by half and she tapped the paper with the tip of her wand while a charm tripped lightly off her lips. Across the face of the notepad, her floo address looped onto the paper in a beautiful, golden script before sealing itself to the page. 

Allison ripped the paper free, shoving it into her pocket before repeating the charm for herself, slightly embarrassed when her spellwork left a jagged, slashing script instead of the beautiful spellmanship Lydia's had created. But she shrugged off that thought, because it wasn't like it mattered as long as it was legible. Lydia didn't _seem_ the sort to judge others on such a tiny thing, regardless. 

Dragging in a breath, Allison offered, "Call any time. If I'm not training or at a match, I'm generally at home boring myself silly."

"When you're not training or at a match or darting through the streets of Hogsmeade," Lydia teased. She reached for Allison again, her fingers dancing over the back of Allison's hand. "And the offer is definitely mutual. Now, I'd best get back out front before the horrid little brats break into my stores of firewhisky." Lydia's gaze darted over Allison's face for a second before she bounced to her toes and pressed a lingering kiss to Allison's cheek.

The action startled Allison and she drew a sharp breath, but didn't move otherwise, didn't want Lydia to think the kiss unwelcome. When Lydia fell back to her heels, looking up at Allison with a flirtatious smirk, the breath Allison had been holding exploded out of her with a short chuckle. Ducking her head, she ignored Lydia's cheek and placed a slow, sweet kiss on her lips instead before pulling back and whispering, "Don't forget to floo."

**Author's Note:**

> We're all on tumblr. [Dizzy](http://dizzilytwirling.tumblr.com), [Wolfie](http://badwolfbadwolff.tumblr.com), and [Eey](http://eeyore9990.tumblr.com). Come see how awesome we are. :D


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